


Limits

by A soggy and nasty piece of bread (37h4n0l)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood, Consensual, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Gangbang, Graphic Violence, Lying as a central theme, M/M, Masochism, Nurse kink, OR IS IT, Torture, Violence, at one point he has an out of body experience because i plug shit like that out of habit, but at what cost, i guess it qualifies for that idk, injuries, pregame ouma, this fic is bad and immoral, this is a fic about an ouma gangbang involving a nurse outfit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 19:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13394532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37h4n0l/pseuds/A%20soggy%20and%20nasty%20piece%20of%20bread
Summary: After all, his personal philosophy dictated that life was about pushing limits, whether it was about how much abuse one could endure with a sane mind or how much he could deceive someone before they noticed. Ouma considered himself a professional in both, but he also knew that the limit existed, so occasionally he had second thoughts about getting so close to it.[Pregame setting where Ouma goes to a military high school and gets involved in bullying, mild torture and a gangbang thanks to his peers. Graphic depictions of sex and violence. Don't expect very... moral subject matters.]





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyfish/gifts).



> Written as a gift for pharadoxly (yes, you fuck, I'm here calling you out publicly since you so bravely agreed with me posting this). 
> 
> Things to learn from this fic: 1) gangbangs are difficult to write and should probably stay in the drawn porn category 2) how the fuck do I characterize the gremlin? 3) I have all but a physical urge to write questionable content. The out of body experience thing... I think I was reading about it when I wrote that part. Stuff slips in. 
> 
> Seriously though, badfic. Not for the faint hearted. I can only pitifully fucking hope I tagged everything.

 

Be there at seven, it was told to him the break before. Needless to make more specifications, he knew where ‘there’ was and also the reason why he was needed. More than hesitation, he grinded his gears over pre-planning and potential outcomes - of him being or not being  _ there _ , at seven, like he’d been told. That made his steps slow down as well, the leaves under his feet crunching slightly less as he applied pressure more gradually. It was September, a relatively warm and pleasant one, even the school’s lackluster yard putting on a display of colorful trees, pretending that the institution had something pleasant or even beautiful about it. When his eyes wandered towards the fronds, it seemed like such a good lie he almost believed it. 

 

Ouma Kokichi was a student of the Imperial Capital’s Imperial High School, or, as everyone called it, ‘the Imperial’. More than a nickname brought up in funny anecdotes, it was a sort of taboo term in neighbourhood circles which had spanned hundreds of horror stories among kids; as rightfully expected from a military high school. There was hardly a chance to even dispel the rumours due to the actual students who frequented the institution residing mostly in their dormitories and generally within the school’s territory, barely any contact with the outside world. A few boys went home for holidays, but they were a minority; and if one were to look for the cause of this phenomenon, they’d find the Imperial’s young men hadn’t been wanted at home since long before entering the school. 

 

Depending on who you were, the Imperial could’ve been a playground and an entertainingly competitive environment as well as  _ utter hell _ . Ouma liked to think it wasn’t the latter for him. Or, better put, that’s what he had been trying so hard to convince himself of. After all, his personal philosophy dictated that life was about  _ pushing limits _ , whether it was about how much abuse one could endure with a sane mind or how much he could deceive someone before they noticed. Ouma considered himself a professional in both, but he also knew that the limit  _ existed _ , so occasionally he had second thoughts about getting so close to it. If he went  _ to the warehouse _ that day at  _ seven _ , there was a whole host of inconveniences to deal with. Last time this happened his uniform got torn, he got covered in bruises in bothersome places and, washing his clothing, he returned to his room too late for curfew. And then all the beatings and whatnot, the draining physical exercises… It made him seriously consider whether it had been a miscalculation on his part to voluntarily show up. 

 

But Ouma was halfway through the path leading to the warehouse that day. That meant - forcibly being honest with himself - that he had already decided to go through with it deep inside. He would’ve felt like an idiot, wobbling back and forth indecisively, and it was almost seven anyway. At first glance one would’ve said, judging from the environment, that he was alone there. The structure was relatively far from the school campus, almost in the corner of the backyard, the plants growing over it and its uneccentric concrete making it blend into the (scarce) flora around it like a military base. It was efficiently deceptive in the idea it gave about nobody having visited it in several years - because there was no reason, really, why anyone would be there, much less closely monitored high school students. A close monitoring that came to a halt for a few hours in the late afternoon, which would explain why there  _ were _ people inside, and why Ouma was about to enter as well. It took a few pushes to open the door, because it was rusty and because he was physically weak. 

 

There was a wave of rustling and whispering.

 

“Guys, guys-!”

 

“Oh, he’s there”

 

Some laughter,

 

“What are you laughing for, dipshit?”

 

“I can’t believe he showed up…”

  
“Shut the fuck up, all of you”

 

Ouma didn’t say anything. Rather, he inspected his surroundings - a few piles of bricks here and there that the fifteen or so students were sitting on or standing around, all covered in moss and weed - and took off his uniform jacket, placing it on a pile directly by the entrance as a preemptive measure to keep it integer and clean. He moved closer with small steps, uncharacteristically elegant in the white shirt draping a little on his narrow shoulders. He plastered a reassured smile on his face, then some of the other boys smiled back and it quickly melted into a face of fright and confusion. One among those two expressions had been a bluff.

 

“Ouma-kun, you came” one of the boys said, hopping off the dusty hill of brick remainders he had been sitting on. 

 

Everyone else snickered, because yes, that was already supposed to be an immature joke. And Ouma pretended to find it funny, he had to, so he gave a throaty laughter, as if it wasn’t aimed at him at all. 

 

“I couldn’t wait” he replied then. The same boy from before shot him an annoyed glance, to which Ouma continued; “I was looking forward to this all day, I really love meeting up with you guys.”

 

_ Here it comes _ , he thought a second later, because he already found himself on the ground, face pushed so tightly against it that the soil got on his tongue a little. It tasted dry, inedible.

 

“Didn’t we tell you last time?” The one who had lashed out at him was keeping him down by stepping on him, but he was leaning down, too, so he could speak directly into Ouma’s ear as he held him by the hair. “Didn’t we tell you not to fucking lie?”

 

Then a series of murmuring voices again;

 

“Calm down.”   
  


“Hey, are you crazy? Cut it off”

 

“We haven’t started yet”

 

Ouma’s shirt was already considerably dirty when he could finally stand again and tried to dust it off. That was it for the charming looks for today. 

 

“Ouma-kun, you can choose today, which first?” 

 

The boy, the one acting as their leader, pointed at his other hand - curled into a fist - twice, then, with the same casual movement, to his crotch. Ouma put on a face that could be interpreted as lewd. He pointed between his own legs, just as lightly, just as naturally. He saw the other’s smile widen, then he looked at his companions in an all-knowing way; whatever suspicion Ouma could’ve had, it would’ve been confirmed or disproven quickly. 

 

He could see a boy on his left - a senior, on the chubby and tall side - approach him, then a fist landed on his temple so quickly he barely felt the pain, just his vision going white for a second and him stumbling back against the wall. Before he could even think of standing up again properly, he was grabbed by one person on each side by his upper arms - thin enough for their hands to reach around them - and pulled forth where he was punched in the face again, now from the other side. It made the inside of his mouth clash with his teeth painfully. He tasted a bit of blood. 

 

The group laughed a little at what they probably perceived as his gullibleness. Ouma, who could finally catch a break for a few seconds, had his head lowered as he stared at the ground emptily. Soil, plants, little grains of rock. He heard the leader calling the names of the two restraining him, names which he had never bothered to remember and didn’t want to, either.

 

“You guys keep him like that, you get your turns last. Come on, folks, everyone does one thing to him before we move on.”

 

“Why us again, it’s not fair!”

 

“Shut up,” this was coming from the other of the two, “he might beg by the time the circle gets to us, that’s gonna be the most fun.”

 

Of course, Ouma knew what the ‘things’ they were talking about entailed, but he didn’t protest. And as he remained limp and quiet, stretching up a corner of his mouth, he could feel himself approaching that theoretical ‘limit’ he came here to push. 

 

The boy who acted as a sort of juvenile commander from before walked up to him first, with the chubby one stepping aside to leave him some space. Ouma winced a little reflexively when he raised his hand, and the slap came down hard, followed by a small yelp, leaving a burning sensation on his cheek seconds after.

 

“How did that feel, Ouma-kun?”

 

“Great” came the response with no reflection needed.

 

“Seems to me like it hurt you, perhaps you’re lying?”

 

“I’m not.”

 

He slapped him again, then several times more. It felt ritualistic, how the rest of the students were watching in silence and awe, nobody even commenting on the fact that everyone was supposed to hit Ouma  _ once _ , because the display was enjoyable enough for them not to complain about self-imposed rules. The subject’s face was red by the end of it, but he had the energy, nevertheless, to put on his usual smile.

 

“What’s so funny?” asked the fat one, attempting to be menacing but not really intimidating Ouma at all.

 

“Nothing,” the latter replied quietly, “I’m having fun.”

 

The next boy was an oddly excited one, he inquired whether he could tear one of Ouma’s nails off and got scolded for it. He ended up grabbing one of his hands and bending the fingers backwards until the other let out a scream, as if the main goal was satisfying some curiosity about the human body - and he tried several times more, with only one or two fingers, while the students on Ouma’s sides were starting to struggle keeping him in place. And when he got bored it was the next one, and then another one; a sequence of subtly excruciating, childish torture methods a kindergartener could’ve come up with. They could’ve done much worse than the punches, the kicks to the stomach, the lifting him by his hair or pushing a finger down his throat until he puked up a little bile - but they weren’t allowed to damage him too much. Both not to get caught and for what came afterwards, and Ouma knew already. 

 

All throughout the blows to various parts of his body, the leader spoke a few times, words likely directed towards Ouma himself, in a voice unnaturally cold for a sixteen-year-old.

 

“Liars are the scum of society. Really, I’m pretty sure anything is better than lying.” He turned to the boy; “And lying snakes like you need to be treated like this, maybe you really do know that you deserve it.”

 

Ouma nodded in superficial resignation; meanwhile it was the chubby boy’s turn and he outright tore him away from his restrainment to throw him on the ground and stomp on his back several times, dangerously close to his spine. He coughed, tried to come to terms with the painful pressure in his ribs; it was as if his body was becoming one with the soil underneath it from how hard he was being smothered into it. He was breathing heavily, dust filling his lungs, but he miraculously kept himself from saying anything, which kind of excited him as if he’d reached a personal milestone in endurance. 

 

He looked up when the other student stepped off of him, seeing a multitude of faces gathered around him in circle, and then came the punches, the kicks, the tearing at his clothes (he was pretty sure someone ripped into his shirt), from every direction he could imagine. It was pain. There was nothing extraordinary about it. Ouma was wondering how much further it would take to be on the literal verge of death; the more he was beaten, the more his mind wandered off into dissociation, to the point of watching the scene from above, seeing his physical body being tossed around like an object with a surprising amount of cruelty. Ouma didn’t even  _ have _ and opinion on cruelty. It was a challenge, like everything else, and challenges piqued his interest.

 

“Enough for now.”

 

“Really? He’s not even screaming yet.”

 

“There’s plenty of time for that, idiot.”

 

“Look, Ouma-kun’s shirt had it rough, haha.”

 

“Did he pass out? His eyes are open.”

 

“If he died we’re fucked, guys.”

 

Ouma sat up, stating to himself that some of the hits had managed to draw blood; had they been that hard or was he pushed against a solid surface or something? Not only was his shirt torn and unrecognizably dirty, but stained with pink too, from either injuries on his abdomen or his nose, still dripping and maybe broken. 

 

“Your clothes are done for,” somebody - he couldn’t tell who - said from above him, “but don’t worry, we prepared you some new ones.”

 

The entire cabal erupted in roaring laughter, Ouma giggled along and got kicked down again for it.

 

“Do I bring them?”

 

“Yeah, asshole. Where did you put them?”

 

It was a standard rucksack from the Imperial, one of those for PE that everyone had; two or three students threw it around among each other to pass it to their leader who was standing directly next to Ouma. His eyes widened with a little surprise when he saw them pull a white, folded piece of fabric from it. More laughter in the small group close enough for the items to see them.

 

“Holy shit, how did you get those?”

 

“I heard he stole them from the infirmary.”

 

“What if they notice they’re missing?”

 

“Are you stupid? We’ll just pin it on the one wearing them.”

 

Ouma had to blink a few times to entirely process what they were. It was a nurse outfit. A neat, clean, professional one, the same he’d seen many times on the school nurses, which would explain their origin. His ‘friends’ had even been considerate enough to bring the red cross hat along with it, a detail that certainly improved their amusement plenty.

 

“Now change.”

 

He nodded and began to strip, which he was long beyond feeling shame for. Under the tatters of shirt his skin was still surprisingly clean beside the bloodied parts around wounds, a white, bony canvas decorated with blue, red and purple marks all around. Ouma was thin - very thin. Each of his ribs was visible and his collarbones jutted out more than it would’ve been healthy. Surely, nobody would’ve appreciated him physically, and he had come to terms with it since a very long time. He had never known many girls, nor did they interest him, and the way he looked wasn’t considered appealing in an all-boys military school. It was considered weak, invaluable, undignified, because withstanding Hell wasn’t rewarded there, only creating it. 

 

The outfit had clearly been made to fit an adult woman, and therefore it was loose on Ouma’s chest and, well, his entire body too - but the length somehow seemed about right. The hat was then tossed at him and he felt distinctly stupid putting it on, but the crowd appeared to be entertained by it. Looking around, he now noticed how much more sharply he stood out, not wearing his uniform anymore. All the other boys were taller and more robust comparing to him and the clothes made him feel exposed, hyperaware of being ogled at. It was uncomfortable enough to make his heartbeat fasten, but he hadn’t made the step of classifying that sensation as negative.

 

“Lord, this is hilarious…!”

 

“He’s like a kid wearing mommy’s clothes”

 

“Ouma-kun is actually pretty cute…”

 

“Are you serious? What kind of degenerate are you?”

 

“Ouma- _ chan _ , if anything…”

 

“Did you hear that?  _ Ouma-chan _ hahahhaha!”

 

Their leader grabbed him by the hair to yank his head upwards and look him in the eye. Ouma was unfazed, still, muscles lax in his whole body and a faint smile on his face.

 

“Do you still feel like lying now? Do you feel as pathetic and humiliated as you look?”

 

“Not at all.” He paused, mouth curling up even more as the other’s eyebrow twitched. “It’s a nice dress, I’m totally enjoying wearing it.”

 

“And you’ll enjoy getting fucked in it too, right?” Came an anonymous voice from the crowd.

 

Technically, the part where Ouma would have  _ gotten fucked _ in the dress - as they had so bluntly put it - only came later. The first part was always something one could define as ‘foreplay’ with a very loose approximation. Getting fifteen people hard wasn’t easy; them being pubescent teenagers was an advantage, but there was also the downside of them being too lazy to do the work on their own. In their situation, one would’ve expected those cornering Ouma into a gangbang would  _ at least  _ put some effort into it - instead, their victim was the one losing stamina. 

 

He was currently occupied with three students, one of whom sat on a pile of rubble - the one of whose cock he was sucking as he jerked off the other two, standing at his sides. Coordinating the movements wasn’t a hassle in and of itself, but the position was; his back was uncomfortably bent, unintentionally showing off a glimpse of uniformized Imperial underwear from under the nurse dress. 

 

“Ouma-chan, I had no idea nurses did this!” The boy grunted from above him. “Amazing…”

 

“Hey! Ouma-chan! Can you cure me too?”

 

“I’m feeling really hot, Ouma-chan… In my pants, that is…” 

 

Instead of considering the bored people’s shouting in the background, Ouma leaned more into the blowjob rolling his eyes internally, and the hard, slick underside of the penis brushed against his tongue now, until its head hit his throat. He gagged a little, which came unexpected enough for him to stop stroking the other two from shock. The boy, now latching onto his hair with one hand, moaned strongly at the sensation before slamming himself past Ouma’s lips again as soon as he tried to pull away. He let his mouth get fucked like that, only investing some effort into moving his hands on the two erections and finding it very hard. His mind went into a haze for a second from the intense rhythm of the cock repeatedly entering his throat - only for it to cease abruptly.

 

“Hey hey! Did you forget? Keep it in until later.”

 

A few boys had gathered around the first one and held him back, making him sigh with disappointment along with the other two. Ouma looked around in momentary confusion, only to see another group, still in the middle of undoing their pants, and the slowness of the whole process which had just dawned on him started to become irritating.

 

“I’ll leave if you guys don’t hurry up, you know” he commented in a tone that would’ve normally been too quiet to be discerned in the general ruckus, but somehow made the warehouse fall silent - because it was  _ his _ voice.

 

It had the desired effect. Someone grabbed him by the hair to yank him their way, making him fall onto his side and get a bit of dirt on the increasingly confining nurse outfit. Even staring at the ground as he kneeled up, he felt the light source being extinguished above himself as the entire group circled him.

 

“When do you think he’ll stop acting like he’s enjoying it?” One boy questioned their leader.

 

“Well,” came the answer, “and what if he  _ is _ ? We just haven’t crossed the limit yet.”

 

Ouma wasn’t sure what was happening or what they were planning, nor did he care as much. But he heard  _ limits _ being talked about. And he heard, too, that the interlocutors were nowhere close to figuring him out, which filled him with vindictive delight.

 

The  _ limit _ was further, further than fifteen teenagers mastrubating in a circle, and further even than Ouma having his underwear pulled down and getting penetrated, suddenly, without anything acting as lube, and the disaster that escalated from there, the absolute mess. The smell of sweat and genital fluids enveloped him as the boys, constantly murmuring insults and pushing each other, hounded his body in a stampede that put some of them at the risk of physically hurting each other. The laughter came almost reflexive, but it didn’t last long as somebody took the opportunity and pushed a cock inside his mouth. Ouma gagged and coughed a little, but it also came out as a moan. And he knew that was the specific thing two or three of them laughed at a second later. 

 

Wherever he looked, all he saw were indistinct, moving pieces of uniform fabric, and cocks, throbbing and red, in the boys’ attempts to rub themselves all over his body in lack of enough orifices to satisfy them all at once. Ouma could feel the impatience. It was in the air - or lack thereof - around him, in the insistent movements of whoever was fucking him in either the mouth or the ass. Impatience, because he hadn’t begged or pleaded yet, he hadn’t cried, he hadn’t sworn he wouldn’t lie again; and he was refusing to express honest feelings about the situation too. Or was he? He was losing track of it. As the two people in front of- and behind him moved in unison and he felt himself being filled up, again and again, Ouma got to a point where he couldn’t untangle his own reasonings and justifications or tell what  _ felt good _ and what  _ didn’t _ . 

 

“This isn’t gonna work, we need him to switch positions.” A few of the ones left out from the orgy were discussing the issue like a strategical matter.

 

“Have him ride someone’s dick, he’d have his hands free then, wouldn’t he?”

 

“Oh my god, you’re a genius.”

 

And they went through with it. Ouma was obedient in giving in to the demands as he straddled one of those completely irrelevant people - who was leisurely lying on the ground - and felt his erection pushing against his behind. No, more than obedient, he was almost  _ eager _ , a smile full of vice and a quick, graceful movement to lower himself on the cock.

 

“Mmmh…” It wasn’t not even a proper moan, it sounded more like a lazy hum.

 

They were all standing around him. He had all their attention, in a complete and absolute manner stage actors could only  _ dream _ of, and he had to come to terms with his own oddest perversions when he realized what a rush of lust it brought him and the way it made his cock twitch under the nurse dress. Ouma quickly came to the realization of how much he was losing control of his own actions when he reached out to stroke two people, picked at random, with his hands, then someone yanked him by the hair to stuff his mouth with another dick.  _ Someone _ , fifteen  _ someone _ s. All those people who wanted to fuck him didn’t matter. They didn’t matter in the slightest. They were dumb pigs he had under his thumb, animals he relished in leading by a leash. No matter how much they thought they were defiling him and making him suffer, no matter how harsh the tone of the voice that told him to get moving, they were irrelevant beings. Their desires and their obliviousness regarding them was what made them irrelevant.

 

Ouma moved his hips despite the discomfort of so many different sources of stimuli to concentrate on. He rode the cock underneath him needily; maybe at first it  _ had been _ just an act, being coy and masochistically enjoying the situation, but he knew all too well that the worst lies were those one told himself. Everyone else was masturbating, quick movements of numerous hands he was too busy to fixate too much on.

 

“We have the best school nurse, don’t we? Hahahha”

 

“Ouma-chan,  _ ah _ ,” came a groan from a student who was obviously too passionate about the situation, “you look so happy about getting fucked!”

 

He made a loud noise around the cock in his mouth as a response, to which its owner pulled out in a bit of a demotivated way. Ouma made a few helpless whines as he bounced up and down, the dress riding up on his torso, close to revealing his own erection.

 

“So, how’s it feel?”

 

“I- Ah!” He attempted to reply, the penis inside him hitting him in just the right spot at the most inconvenient moment, “I love it so much,...”

 

“Is that a lie too?” The group leader intervened, grabbing him by the scalp - an act Ouma was starting to get almost used to at this point.

 

“N-no, AH! It feels good, it feels so good…!” As if to demonstrate, he started moving with harsher and more frantic movements, completely exposing himself and giving proof of just how much the situation was affecting him. “I love being hurt, I love  _ being fucked  _ like this, I love pleasuring all of you!”

 

Ouma knew that would push their buttons; and he was spot on, because suddenly the movements of all those hands around him grew quicker and more uncontrolled, lascivious grunts resounding within the whole warehouse. A few of them came, even, drenching his garments with semen in various points and making him shiver up with a little disgust but also morbid appeal. Both him and his peers were closer and closer to the edge with each second. Ouma felt the loss of control even more, and it was useless to pretend he didn’t like it - only because it was a change of pace, though. Those people would have bent to his demands if he played them the right way. But he didn’t feel like it. Because he liked pushing limits, like the way he kept riding the cock practically in spasms, feeling his orgasm approach.

 

Him and the last five or six people remaining came almost at the same time, Ouma moaning obscenely with spurts of cum landing all over him. He stopped thinking about his machinations for a moment, he couldn’t continue - not with how much pure pleasure he was experiencing. It was more than the bliss of an ordinary climax, with all his pent-up perverse needs added, which altogether was intoxicating to the point of making the movements of his hips compulsive and automatic, like taking drugs. He had to catch his breath for a while before he could finally move again when it was over.

 

It didn’t take long for all of the other students to leave - in fact the whole surreal experience was gone as quickly as it came about. Ouma sat spent on the ground, which was oddly enough the most comfortable place to rest in the whole place. Rubble under his ass would’ve made its already critical conditions even worse. He chuckled a little at the irony that  _ he _ was the one who would’ve needed a visit from the school nurse in such a situation. He thought about a lot of things in those minutes he passed resting his body, firstly about how pitiful and he must’ve looked from the outside, covered in his schoolmates’ cum in that utterly stupid outfit. He was going to get a lot of reprimands for both that and the state his uniform was in.

 

It was time to learn something from this occurrence. To classify the outcome of the decision he had made, weighing the positives and the negatives. And Ouma tried  _ hard _ to convince himself it had been worth it, that he was managing to keep his cool, that it didn’t affect him in any way. All of this especially since this was so far from his limit, still, so  _ goddamn far _ , that his conditions were the only thing holding back his raw, dissatisfied anger from erupting. He’s never been one for physical violence though, after all; not delivering it, at least. He remained in the warehouse for at least thirty minutes more as it started getting dark outside. He was going to be late for curfew. He didn’t care.

 

A few days passed, and it was enough for Autumn to start turning into Winter. The maintenance staff had swept up the - now fallen - leaves too. Ouma wasn’t done with his lengthy list of punishments and duties yet, and his constant soreness from having to jog twice as much as his peers each class made him lose interest in wasting time staring at  _ nature’s beauties _ like before. 

 

It was then, as he walked to the next lesson in a terrible mood, that someone tapped him on the shoulder, making his eyes widen as he turned around. It was one of  _ them _ . He had no clue whom, but he recognized the face, no matter how unremarkable.

 

“Ouma-kun, I’m forwarding the message,” It was even more annoying that he made that clear, “today at seven?”

 

It had never been a habit of Ouma to explicitly reply to these invitations; he just showed up, rather, that was his response. But it just so occurred that his brain wandered in an odd place exactly in the short time lapse after the question had been delivered to him. He looked up, right into the eyes of the student, holding back and smiling just a little.

 

“Sounds great, I’ll come.”

 

“In more way than one, I suppose” the other whispered to him as he walked past him, and Ouma felt the rare urge to hit a person on the spot. 

 

And the afternoon came soon, but never soon enough. He was exhausted again from the monstrous amount of physical training, but self-complacent nonetheless. Because it was almost  _ seven _ and he was anticipating it so very badly it made him giggle under his breath. It had only dawned on him that day how lucky he was to be able to experience what he was going to experience. In that one specific moment, he had finally realized fully - how good it was going to feel and how it was absolutely worth it from every possible perspective and with any consideration, no matter what he would get for it from the Imperial’s administration. They were irrelevant. It all meant nothing compared to how much he was looking forward to this. 

 

He walked towards the warehouse in glee, getting ready. He had prepared everything thoroughly this time.

 

“I told you so clearly that I would come here, didn’t I?” He muttered to himself.

 

The blast was so strong it could have probably been heard even from the inside of the distant school building.

 

“Well, that was a lie.”

 

The bushes around were burning as well as one or two trees. It was likely the fire would’ve spread to the whole campus if they hadn’t taken care of the scattered leaves right before, lucky for them. Ouma observed from a distance eerily calm due to the fact that absolutely nobody cared that he was there, or  _ where _ he was in general in this situation. A few people ran out, patting their own clothing frantically, trying to put out the flames consuming them. A few people. Not all of them. Those who had, had an expression of fear, agony and despair, the one they had wanted Ouma so badly to make before. Yet, he was the one standing there and watching, throwing the box of matches right across the campus’ wall. The school nurse would’ve had some remarks about how  _ brutally _ third-degree burns could hurt, probably much more than any injury achievable through mere kicks and punches. A cruel, excruciating amount of pain to cause.

 

And that was the  _ limit _ \- he had just bumped into it.


End file.
